


Don't

by whatthefrickledickle



Series: Tumblr prompts [3]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2016-07-20
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:22:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7534315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatthefrickledickle/pseuds/whatthefrickledickle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The next time Thomas asks her about their ceiling Teresa is going to quite simply lose her ever loving-shit--like flip the table over, rip up her dissertation crazy. If he was so concerned about his precious ceiling he could very well take care of it himself, and she told him as much whenever he felt the need to voice his concerns.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Don't

Thomas is the perfect boyfriend, he really really is. The way he comes tumbling into bed clutching a steaming plate of fresh crepes and berries he made especially for her, all shy smiles and sleep mussed hair, makes her heart flutter fiercely in her chest and her stomach swoop. His, perfect, sleepy kisses that chase the faint taste of morning away with sweet heated breath leave her gasping for more--food forgotten somewhere amongst the sheets. 

He recognized her desire for independence and never attempted to cage her in what society deemed the appropriate position for a women. He much preferred to be the support house boyfriend and tend the house while she’s out conquering the academic world and blowing minds with her studies in nuclear chemistry. She honestly couldn’t have asked for a better boyfriend. But, sometimes he really really got under her skin. 

He had this annoying habit of latching on to a problem and never ever letting it go until it had reached its resolution. This particular habit of his sometimes resulted in a harsh biting words and sleeping on the couch because Thomas always got the bed. What a problem he’d found himself to fixate on this time: their ceiling of all things. 

The next time Thomas asks her about their ceiling Teresa is going to quite simply lose her ever loving-shit--like flip the table over, rip up her dissertation crazy. If he was so concerned about his precious ceiling he could very well take care of it himself, and she told him as much whenever he felt the need to voice his concerns. 

As fate would have it Thomas brings it up again on a Tuesday morning when Teresa is in deep thought about her research. She’s calculating the trajectory of the isotopes in her lab and radioactive decay so she’s nearly missed Thomas trying to make polite conversation over a lovely breakfast.

“Hey Teresa, have you noticed anything weird about the ceiling in our bedroom lately?” Thomas asks over the eggs and toast he’d prepared them for breakfast. 

He wobbles the plate on his knee, picking at his toast, with his eyes cast down. Almost as he was afraid of she would say no. Very precarious behaviour for Thomas but she feels vindictive and frustrated for being cheated from a brilliant discovery

“Don’t ask me that again.” She cut, not missing the way Thomas visibly flinched “The answer is the same as last time. If you are so worried about our ceiling call someone to come take a look at it.”

“Oh, yeah, of course. Heard you loud and clear.” Thomas voice wavers towards the end as if he was putting on a front 

Teresa thinks the whole situation very odd, but soon forgets all about it in favor of planning the next steps in her research.

\--

The weeks pass and Teresa’s not sure where her relationship went. One week they were inseparable and the next Teresa’s thrown herself into her research, leaving the lab later and arriving earlier with each day that passed, and Thomas has disappeared to Newt and Minho’s whenever she’s home.

When they’re home together Thomas retreats to wherever he goes in his mind and Teresa can’t reach him anymore.

Frustrated she flips over a test tube and watches it explode, from a safe distance of course, just for the satisfaction of it really.

 

Lunch comes and before she knows it Thomas is clutching Chinese take-out in one hand and shifting, unsure, against the lab door. 

For a horrifying moment, she has no idea what to say to him anymore and she is sure he can’t think of a thing to say to her either. A wretched feeling 

Research kills her. She was in the middle of merging two nuclei and her own. Business negotiations get boring faster than.

She sighs, adjusts her lab goggles, pushing them to the top of her head, and turns to Thomas with a smile. Memories of he how’d he used to sweep in and offer her his opinions on plutonium-239 and the trajectory of her isotopes. A wretched coldness sweeps over her as the realization hits that this might be the end of their late night talks and breakfasts in beds. 

“No food in the lab, you know that.” She says, keeping her voice light but firm for a good scolding.

She’s thoroughly surprised when he huffs a laugh. “Not staying for lunch. Minho’s wants to run some laps. Just thought I’d bring you lunch. It’s your favorite.” He says stuffing the bag in her hands and then awkwardly stuffing them in his front pockets.

She aches for the ease that they used to talk together and she smiles in hopes to recreate it just one last time, “You won’t stay then?”

“No, you’re never going to recreate the reaction to birth a star if I stay here and pester you about my day.” And Thomas leans in gently pushing their lips together in a slow lingering kiss. 

The kiss reminds her of all the nights they stole kisses in the lab, naming unborn stars with bated breath. Brings up the pleasant warm memories of Thomas sad attempts of wooing her with his knowledge. But this time when Thomas kisses her it feels like goodbye. 

-

She’s tired and exhausted and her feet hurt from standing over the reactor all day when she finally retires home. A sigh is heaved as she flings herself onto the bed next to Thomas. She contents in the feel of the bad against her aching m

And, there spelled out in cheap green luminescent stars was, will you marry me?

She can hardly keep the blankets from flying everywhere in her haste to get a look at Thomas. He’s eyes have returned to the shy and timid nature of weeks ago when he’d first started asking about the and everything suddenly makes sense. Thomas wasn’t asking her about their fucking ceiling; he was asking if she agreed to fucking marry him. And she had told him to call someone else. No wonder he’d been so distant as of late. He was stewing in the throes of misplaced rejection, that was hardly her fault, but she couldn’t help reaching out for him anyway.

Something hopeful flashed in his eyes and a coy smile broke out on his face, and he whispered “So will you?”

She holds her breath unable to comprehend the situation unfolding around her. This afternoon she thought she had lost him for good and now he’s asking her to spend the rest her life with him.

It’s truly a reflex that makes her say. “Don’t ask me that.”

“Oh okay. Right.” Thomas mutters utterly broken, from what he surely thinks is another rejection, while he tries to shimmy out of bed.

She curses because now there’s so much distance between them. Too much distance. She wanted him under her right now. She wanted to those words pressed hotly against her ear. She’ll say anything to hear those words right now. 

“No, no, I didn’t mean it. Fuck Tom, ask me. Ask me properly.” She gasped with annoying little tears in her eyes and her hand grasped to his arm, urging him to go on. 

He looks at her, truly looks at her for the first time in days. He must find whatever he’s look for because he takes a deep breath and breathes out hard.

“Right. Will you marry me?” He says quietly with the first genuine smile she’d seen in days and she couldn’t help return it right back.


End file.
